Of A First Class Murder

On Saturday night I attended a murder. Or, more precisely, a glamourous French woman called Marie de Mignon lent her company to a sparkling evening full of good food, excellent conversation, and death, all compered by a little Belgian man with a waxed moustache who kept popping up on the TV screen. That's right: last weekend some friends and I put on an Agatha Christie murder mystery party!

The box set we used was based on the plot of Christie's The Plymouth Express (luckily one of the few Poirots I hadn't read, so I didn't know the denouement beforehand), and the eight of us each played one of the suspects in Flossie Carrington's murder (she'd been stabbed on a train and her jewels stolen...). The friend who organised the evening thought it would be hysterical if we were each given parts which required accents as far removed from our own as possible -- hence my transformation into Mlle de Mignon for the night. One of my friends was a Scotsman, another a cockney maid, Americans became Brits and vice versa, while the genuine Frenchwoman present became the haughtily English Lady Swansea.

I had great fun donning a blonde flapper wig and feather headdress, twirling a long cigarette holder between my begloved fingers, and trying to guess whodunnit...

We watched the introductory DVD in which Poirot (sadly not played by the wonderful David Suchet!) set the scene (you come back to the DVD at various points throughout the game, to hear witness testimonies and the like, and, of course, to hear Poirot reveal the killer at the end, when you get to see whether your leetel grey cells have matched up to his):

After Poirot had described the murder, the game began in earnest as we sat down in our allotted seats for dinner:

A couple of my friends provided us with a glorious meal of several courses, with such delights as pastry puffs filled with pear, cheese, and pine-nuts, home-made soup, and deliciously succulent pork belly:

The only downside was that by the end of the meal we were all too full to make the most of the wonderful cheeses on offer (oh, and the fact that one of my friends had a bit of a hard time making sure his fake moustache didn't fall off and become an interesting garnish in his soup!).

The game is moved along using script booklets and envelopes containing clues, which tell you about your character and what information you can -- or must -- reveal to other characters. Sometimes you're told to challenge one of the others, and at all points you have to tell the truth as written in your booklet, unless you've just read that you're the murderer, in which case lying is most definitely allowed! The killer's identity isn't revealed even to them until the very final pages of the booklet, however, so it can be quite nail-biting waiting to find out whether you yourself wielded the knife! I've done a couple of these murder mysteries before, and on one occasion I did turn out to be a murderess, which was incredibly good fun (especially as only one of my friends guessed; all the others suspected the nun...). As well as making sure you get in all the information required by the script, improvisation is also highly encouraged, which led to some highly entertaining conversations as we all enjoyed getting into character.

All in all, a fantastic evening, and I recommend such a night to anyone who's a fan of Agatha Christie, or indeed anyone who just likes dressing up in silly costumes and fooling around with their friends over a good meal and some nice wine. Murder is the perfect accompaniment to such foodie frivolity, for, as Sir W said in his 1600 essay 'Of Censuring',

'Death is the last relish'.

Of A Lovely Weekend

My friend's party at the weekend was a lot of fun. We enjoyed some pre-dinner drinks at her house, where we were greeted by an unexpected guest, with whom, as you can see, I rather fell in love:

Doesn't he look real?! Unfortunately he was a bit to big for me to slip into my handbag and steal off with... We followed this with an excellent meal at Jaipur on the Cowley Road. This was a new discovery for me, and one I'm very pleased to have made. The staff were friendly, the ambiance warm and welcoming, and the food both delicious and beautifully presented:

They even brought my friend a little extra something when they found out it was her birthday:

I can particularly recommend the Mixed Starter and the Chicken Shaslick, while the spinach rice is also well worth trying. I've found out that they offer free home delivery on orders within six miles of the restaurant, so I think I'll be trying that out one evening when cooking seems like too much effort!

After the meal, we made our way down the Cowley Road to Cafe Coco. I'd been here for brunch and lunch before (both lovely. The full English breakfast is truly excellent, and is one of the few places I've found in Oxford where it includes black pudding, which gets it a definite thumbs up from me). I'd never tried it in the evening, however, so I was particularly pleased to be able to test out their cocktail range, especially as certain cocktails are only £3.95 between 10pm and closing (at 1am).

Cafe Coco is owned by the same people as one of my very favourite Oxford haunts, The Grand Cafe, which also offers cheap cocktails every evening, so I was pleased to find that the ones at Cafe Coco were just as good. It's a fun place with a lively atmosphere, not to mention some rather interesting pieces of art:

When I came to Cafe Coco for brunch with a friend last year, I was sitting in a chair facing away from the clown in the bath, when suddenly my friend went a little pale and told me to turn around. I did so, only to see a rush of ice cubes pour out of the little gold pipe above the clown, *into the bath*. Apparently it's where they keep their ice. I was quite happy to finish my cup of tea, but my friend had a slightly harder job enjoying his iced water after that ... he said he couldn't quite enjoy it after thinking of it swimming around next to a naked clown mannequin. Fair enough, I suppose, but the bizarre sculptures certainly add to the atmosphere!

Sunday dawned bright and (not so) early, and we indulged ourselves with a reviving meal at the wonderful Edamame -- another absolute favourite which will some day merit a post to itself. After I'd waved goodbye to my friends, I then went on a Mission. And this time, I succeeded: I have New Boots!

I was *very* happy to find these at Marks & Spencer, exceedingly well priced (I fell in love with a pair at Sassi the other day, but they were £300, and my love has limits...) and also extraordinarily comfortable. The heel is sturdy enough to stand a good chance against the cobbles, whilst also looking nice with a skirt. They may not be perfect, but they are certainly a welcome addition to my wardrobe.

I pottered round the shops a little more in the afternoon, and was pleased to find a great new dress for the end of term Christmas dinner and party at College, which is coming up in early December. I wanted something a bit different, and I think this dress from French Connection fits the bill:

It is a little more risque perhaps than my usual choices, with the sheer front and carefully placed sequins (!), but it's fun and frivolous and perfect for getting into the Christmas spirit. And sometimes it's good to have a change. To tone it down a little, I'm going to pair it with black tights and a pair of black patent high heels like these...

... and look forward to dancing the night away. I'll make sure to tell you all about it!

For now, I'm off to get myself some lunch, and then I must stop thinking of frivolous matters for the time being and get back to the library. Or, as Sir W put it in his 1600 essay 'Of Fame':

'I will from henceforth follow Vertue silently in my study'.

Of A Welsh Retreat

I spent last weekend staying with my aunt and her partner in South Wales, a wonderful wintry break. Much as I adore Oxford, it can become a (very pretty) claustrophobic bubble at times, and getting out into the Welsh countryside was a welcome retreat. My aunt has three dogs, who all require a lot of exercise, so I muffled up in layers upon layers and ventured outside to enjoy the autumnal scenery with them, which was lovely even in the rain which stereotypically poured down throughout most of my visit. The walks were a lot of fun, and I almost regretted not taking The Walking Boots with me so they could have another little outing. Almost. Sadly I forgot to take my camera, so I can't share the beautiful vistas, the fallen red leaves, the fern-lined streams, and the panting dogs and woolly wet sheep. Nor the rumbling log fire, glowing candles, cosy cushion-filled window seats, and delicious warming food, which all seemed so much more luxurious thanks to the rain-lashed windows and cold winds blowing outside our little nest.

My aunt's cottage is up the side of a hill, reached by a twisting lane which seems a lot longer, let me tell you, when you have to walk up it in the snow, because the car can't make it ... such journeys are one of the abiding memories of my childhood. Also clambering over the fence into the field which borders my aunt's garden, picking my way over to the cows' water trough, smashing the ice and scooping out a pail of water to take back to the house, so that we could actually flush the toilet when the cold weather had frozen all the pipes. This is also the aunt who used to take me camping as a child, so you can see it is really to her and her partner that I owed my ability to wow my fellow chaletites with my nonchalant (well, more nonchalant than they were expecting, anyway...) response to the Chalet's own basic conditions this summer. As I said, at least there I had a proper bed, rather than a tent floor!

I've been spending a busy week since returning from my trip, with lots of work and lots of socialising, which has been fun if a little exhausting, and has unfortunately left little time for blogging -- hence the late description of my Welsh break. I am summoning up the remains of my energy today however for a friend's birthday party tonight, which should be a lot of fun. Some old undergraduate friends are coming up for it, so I'm looking forward to seeing everyone and catching up on all their news. My friend lives in East Oxford too, so we're going to be exploring some of the restaurants and bars on this side of town -- I can't wait to get to know more about my new area! Talking of which, I must go and prepare for everyone's arrival: washing up, tidying, all those sorts of joyous activities. Thank goodness some frivolity will be returning this evening with the advent of a few cocktails and some good company! But although I am very excited about seeing my friends tonight, after such a busy week I've also been glad of a quiet morning today. I love spending time with other people, but I also need some time alone to recharge and refresh myself. This morning -- even with its chores -- is a good opportunity for that, meaning that today looks to be a perfect combination of reflection and revellry. For, as Sir W said in his 1601 essay 'Of Solitarinesse and Company':

'The vse of things makes things worth the vse, and company by the vse is an excellent instructour, and solitarines moderatly taken, makes vs fit for company'.

Of Recommended Reading

Although Howards End is on the Landing may not be entering my best-loved books list, one of the things Susan Hill has done for me is bring to my attention a few books or authors which I had never come across before, and which I'm now looking forward to trying. One of these is The Paper House by Carlos Maria Dominguez.

It is a small book of only just over 100 pages, including illustrations by Peter Sis, but despite its tiny stature it sounds like it is going to pack quite a punch. The inside jacket tells us that it is a 'fable about the power of literature to steer our destinies', and it is a fantastical book about the joys and the dangers of obsessive bibliophilia. It arrived in the post today, and I am looking forward to reading it even more after Savidge Reads' recent review of it.

Also awaiting me in my college pigeon hole was another title to add to my new Barbara Pym collection, which I am eager to increase after enjoying Some Tame Gazelle and Excellent Women so much. Thanks to everyone who encouraged me to further my acquaintance with Pym when I asked for suggestions recently, and especially to Merenia, who particularly recommended this latest buy: Crampton Hodnet.

This sounds right up my street: how could I resist a Pym novel which is actually set in Oxford?! I shall be sharing my thoughts on these books just as soon as I read them, and I can't wait to try both of these new additions to my shelves (I can see my new bookshelf filling up rather speedily...), although they will have to wait for a while. I am no further with Stone's Fall than I was yesterday, and it too will have to lie mainly unread until after the weekend: I have a friend from Cambridge staying with me until Sunday, and as I haven't seen her since February, we have a lot of catching up to do, and a variety of pleasant activities planned in which to do it!

I must get to bed now, as along with all the meals, exhibitions, and general frivolities we have planned for the next few days, my friend and I both have to be at the library in the morning, for a couple of hours at least! On the subject of bed, I sign off today with some of Sir W's musings from his 1600 essay 'Of Sleepe':

'This Sleepe is to me in the nature that Dung is to Ground, it makes the soyle of my Apprehension more solid, and tough; it makes it not so light, and pleasant, and I am glad of it, for I finde my selfe too much subiect to a verball quicknesse'.

Of Warming the House

My cold turned into the 'flu (whether or not of the porcine variety, I am unsure...), and I felt very sorry for myself during the three days I spent languishing in bed, despite having Dominic West and the rest of the cast of The Wire to keep me company. Happily, yesterday I began feeling much more like myself, which was fortunate as yesterday evening was the occasion of our housewarming party.

Some friends and I began the evening with a pre-party meal at the lovely Slovak restaurant Moya, which, thanks to my new location in St Clements, is just a hop and a skip down the road. After a celebratory cocktail, I enjoyed a delicious, melt-in-the-mouth pork shank...

... before indulging in this scrumptious 'bubble cake' for pudding. It tasted just as good as it looked:

The good food continued at the party itself, as along with the various varieties of alcohol with which we were presented, one of our guests also brought along a delicious 'Zebra cake' which she had baked earlier in the day:

It was lovely to catch up with old friends as wine, music, and conversation flowed freely. The house stood up remarkably well to being filled to capacity, and our new abode was warmed in a truly fine style: Time itself even rolled back an hour, making us feel that our new home is truly blessed! Here's hoping there'll be many more enjoyable evenings in St Clements over the next year!

In his 1601 essay 'Of Vanitie', Sir W warns that:

'a drunken night makes a mistie morning'.

Luckily, despite partaking freely of the many bottles presented by our guests (including some Chocolate Wine: very rich, very sweet, very curious! It would be a fun Christmas tipple), I managed to avoid any such mistiness myself today!

Of Presents and Pimm's

Last night I enjoyed a wonderful early birthday meal at the lovely Al-Shami Lebanese Restaurant, tucked away down one of the many winding streets of Jericho. The food was delicious, and got off to an unusual start with huge platters of raw vegetables (something common to many Lebanese restaurants), which added a brilliant splash of colour to the table:

I felt extremely healthy nibbling away at this selection, although I fear that any potential vitamin benefits would have been washed away by the red wine... I always love catching up with old friends over a leisurely meal, and of course birthday dinners have the added bonus of including some very nice presents as a side dish!

Even the weather this weekend has been in a celebratory mood, and Oxford's been revelling in glorious hot sunshine. I've been able to indulge properly with a couple of long, lazy afternoons lounging outside at the pub with friends, a pitcher of Pimm's on the table beside us. Pimm's is one of my favourite things about summer in England, especially when it's made properly - with lashings of fruit and mint and plenty of ice. There's only one fly - or rather, wasp - in the ointment. Or, with my luck, several wasps. Unfortunately, the stripy little fiends enjoy a summery tipple just as much as I do, and I must confess that even a perfectly made glass of Pimm's can somewhat lose its appeal when you've just watched a wasp take a bath in it. As a consequence on these occasions, the table becomes something of a battleground. I'm not a particularly helpful member of the defence force, usually only managing to swat the air ineffectually in one wasp's general direction as I try simultaneously to ward off another who's after a juicy chunk of strawberry bobbing at the top of my glass. Luckily, I have some better co-ordinated friends who variously squish, drown, or decapitate the enemy in order to avoid any unwelcome added extras floating among the cucumber...

My weekend's exertions have left me in need of an early night, but first I should point out a new addition to my Oxford restaurant list: Al-Andulas in Little Clarendon Street. This is an absolutely fantastic little tapas bar which I went to for the first time this evening. I love the type of meal where you can pick and choose from lots of different little dishes, and I've walked past this place on many occasions, and have been wanting to try it for a while. It certainly didn't disappoint, and I'll definitely be returning again very soon!

Sir W was no stranger to Spanish cuisine: his father, Sir Charles Cornwallis, was based in Madrid as the resident ambassador to Spain from 1605 to 1609, and Sir W visited him there. I'm not sure that tapas would have been on the menu, but the analogy Sir W draws in the extract below suggests that he too would have approved of the 'few dishes well dressed' that I so much enjoyed this evening. This comes from the 1601 essay 'Of Silence and Secrecie'; Sir W has been contrasting different oratorical styles, and has concluded that it is definitely quality, rather than quantity, that matters:

'it is ... as it is betweene a few dishes well dressed and a great feast. The sparing speaker giues you that which is wholesome and ouerburdens not your memory with superfluitie; the wording Orator is like our English feasts, where the stomack must winne way to the second course, with bearing the burthen of the first, & when he comes to it, hath lost the bettering himselfe by it, through the heauinesse of his first receipt.'

Of Excuses and Cocktails

First up, apologies for the lack of post yesterday - not very good to miss one on my very first week blogging! Oops. Yesterday became rather hectic, and the little window I had plugged in to write the entry got taken up by an unexpected invitation to join friends for cocktails at Quod ... and as you may gather from my sidebar, I can rarely bring myself to turn down a cocktail. And the guys at Quod do a mean Margarita: nice and sharp and a good dusting of salt round the rim, just the way I like them!

Unfortunately, today's post is also a short one, as I have friends arriving very soon and am currently running around like a mad thing trying to get everything in order. Tonight I'm having a pre-birthday meal at the wonderful Al-Shami. I am going to be away on my alpine adventures on my actual birthday, so I am having to bring the celebrations forward a little. Not that I mind - spreading out birthdays for as long as possible is something I enjoy all too much! There might be some more cocktails on the cards tonight, too, as the restaurant is rather conveniently situated close to my favourite Oxford cocktail bar: Raouls... 

Although I'll be trying not to over-indulge too much - I don't want to suffer the same sort of indignities as dear little Sir W, who tells us in 'Of Vanitie' (1601) that:

'I haue tasted of more then I haue digested: for at twenty yeares old, I vomited a great deale that I drunke at 19.'